We Are Not Friends
by creepynocuous
Summary: Gazing at the bruised and dirtied apple on the ground with a bored expression, the girl sighed. Placing her chin in the palm of her hand and her elbow on her leg, she thought. She thought and thought until another girl walked up and picked up the poor apple. With a complacent grin, she took a bite and spoke. "Why are you wasting the day away, Keen?"


She might've been thinking about it too much, but for some reason, she thought that the clock on the wall was severely condescending towards her. Any passerby that happened to only glance at it or simply walk on by without noticing it was safe from its hateful glare.

But not her.

She had stared at it for so long that it seemed to had finally said 'to hell with it' and was staring right back. Which was stupid in reality,_really_. The only change that occurred on the face of the clock was the hands that moved to tell the time, not any imaginary eyeballs to hold a staring contest with.

_'Still,' _she thought offhandedly. _'I feel like I'm __**being **__eye-balled.'_

Taking a casual look around the balcony whilst sipping the rest of the water from her worn coffee cup, she then gulped her drink, sighed and slouched in her chair. No one was watching her, she surmised. She was just going a bit crazy. She was just a little paranoid.

Shaking her head as if disappointed in herself, she then turned towards the clock on the wall once more, seeing as during the entire stare off she hadn't paid any mind towards the actual time of day. Noting that it was ten in the morning, she raised her hand and flagged down a passing waitress with a tray under her arm. Gaining the woman's attention quickly, the waitress donned a smile that didn't reach her eyes and practically trotted up to the lonely girl.

"Yes, ma'am? Would you like a refill on your drink?" Smiling back politely, and with a nod of her head, the girl passed the coffee up towards the worker, who had reached out her open hand to accept it.

"Yes, please. It's just water." After she had taken the cup, the girl chirped up again. "Thank you."

"No problem." Was all that the waitress said before continuing her job and was all that was heard before the girl bent down in her seat and reached for her backpack that laid underneath her chair. Lifting up her foot that had laid underneath the strap, the bag raised a few inches from the ground, and was then hoisted up to the patio table when her hand finally reached it.

Sitting straight up again, the girl unzipped the front pouch and dug her hand inside. Shuffling around for a few seconds with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, her hand finally gripped the object of her desire. With a quiet _'aha!' _escaping from her lips, she pulled out two somewhat clear containers - one with a red cap, and the other with a white - that were held together by a lined paper folded in half horizontally. The paper itself wrapped around the two containers like a blanket, held on only by a clear piece of tape.

Taking off said tape, she unfurled the somewhat crumpled paper and read it quickly.

_**Dear Keen, **_

_**With Borealis being a constantly popular tourist port, I get many travelling vagabonds with a worrying amount of them coming to my clinic weekly. Before the end of my first year here, I've learned quickly that most of them do not and **_**will**_** not stay cooped up in a room for long when they have the whole world waiting for them. I figured you are no different, so I've taken care in supplying these for you on whatever path you set foot on. While having such a grandiose thirst for adventure is inspiring, it's still dangerous, and not to mention **_**moronic **_**to leave before you're completely healed. **_

_**I just hope I haven't inspired **_**you **_**to leave. Perhaps leaving a backpack with your name on it on your nightstand isn't the most responsible thing of a doctor to do, but I don't like leaving patients empty-handed. I hope you appreciate the sentiment.**_

_**In regards to the medicine, the white cap happens to be your painkillers. Take no more than three a day, and only when you think the pain is too harsh. I'm well aware of your monetary issues and you can't waltz into a clinic for more free medicine. They aren't so Keen (ha) on doing something like that, so try to make these last if the pain from your wounds persists a little longer than originally perceived. I can't take care of you when you're not here. **_

_**The medicine with the red cap has the antibiotics for the big incision you managed to receive. Since it's still an open wound, there's a chance that your infection there will get worse. Just remember to care for the gash like I told you (there's also gauze in the backpack) and check it often so you won't have to use all the medicine. Please **_**do not **_**take more than you need; only one a day. Remember that. **_

_**Other than the medicine, please feel free to come back one day. You're an interesting character, Keen, even if neither you or I know much about where you come from. I wish you luck on solving your own, personal mystery. It was nice having you around.**_

_**With luck, **_  
><em><strong>Doctor Kran<strong>_

Setting the now-read paper on the table, Keen then picked up the container with the red cap. Mulling over the contents in the letter while she struggled to open the antibiotics, she thought about what the man had told before she left.

The night that she departed the clinic - that he had kindly let her stay at, free of charge - he had mentioned the backpack that she was now travelling with. He had said something along the lines of 'When you're discharged, you can keep that with you since you have nothing else in your possession.' He had then proceeded to mention the backup medicine, and the two days worth of packed food and water hidden inside.

Suffice to say, if Keen were to ever come back to Doctor Kran, she would have to make sure and _not _mention that his caution really did inspire her to leave early.

Doctor Kran had been a nice man, and young too, despite his looks. While he took care of Keen, she had thought him to be closer to his mid-thirties. However, like how it was mentioned in the letter, she noticed that he was constantly busy with patients who had sailed in and gone through some sort of injury, varying from a few cuts that needed disinfecting to broken bones and missing limbs. It was clear that over the three weeks that she had been there that it was from the constant business that he was aging so quickly. It was only through small chat had she found out he was just twenty-four.

It didn't seem to have any effect on his somewhat perky personality, but then again, even her arrival didn't seem to put him at any discomfort.

She was told quite often by the city inhabitants - the ones who were open-minded enough to hold a conversation with her, at least - that she had been found lying inside the forest that was too thin and too sparse to really be called as such.

A few kids had set out on a late night excursion without their parents consent and had found her curled up at the base of a tree, almost completely hidden by a few bushes. If it hadn't been for the worrying amount of blood catching a shine on one of the flashlights, the teenagers wouldn't have found her alive, but thanks to the forest not being so forest-y - possibly because it was so close to a bustling city - it wouldn't have taken more than a week to find her _body_.

Every person she talked to mentioned how lucky she was that they found her at such a great time. She supposed she _was _somewhat lucky, but she couldn't help but feel bitter about her predicament. She would've been lucky to have _not _been in the situation in the first place, _thank you very much._

And it rose up so many questions, too. Who had attacked her? Why did they leave her half-dead outside of the city, anyways? What had she done?

Thinking it over in her head, she first thought that her attacker didn't care whether or not she would survive. Then she thought that maybe he or she or it was just careless, and figured that she would be dead anyways. She supposed the latter made more sense, since she was always reminded of her 'luck'.

_'Well,'_ she thought irritably. _'Looks like I'm still alive, huh, __**asshole**__?' _She really had no clue who had tried to make her kick the bucket, but she knew she hated them for it.

If she had felt anything but, then she would be worried.

"Here you go, ma'am."

"O-oh." Jostled from her angry thoughts entirely, she reached with her free hand for the refilled coffee cup. Setting the cup down carefully on the glass, she flickered her eyes towards the waitress that was still standing at the table. Moving her head to face the waitress, Keen frowned. Recognizing the woman's expression as fear - she was wide-eyed, with her eyebrows drawn together and her teeth clenched into a forced smile - she cleared her throat and waved her hand to dismiss her. "That's all I needed, thank you."

"_N-no problem_."

"..." However, the waitress didn't budge an inch. Looking down uncomfortably and fidgeting with her hands, Keen made to speak up again. Glancing at the waitress, she made sure to look at her name tag. "I really don't need anything else, Ella."

The mention of her name seemed to knock the waitress out of reverie, and like a switch, the look on her face went from fear to apparent aggravation. Keen briefly wondered how she was still working if this was the way she treated all the customers she served, but Ella then clasped her hands and walked away quickly before she could make any more assumptions.

With her hazel eyes lowering towards the table in thought, Keen wondered if there was something else the waitress had wanted. A tip, maybe? Well she definitely wasn't getting one, whether Keen wanted to or not. She just didn't have the money.

Keen absent-mindedly patter her jean pockets, hoping that a few beri would magically appear.

No such luck.

The waitress wanting a tip would explain why she hadn't been rude when taking the cup, but not why she had looked frightened when she had come back. It wasn't such a big deal, and she was probably over thinking it, but no matter what it was still odd. It just made her curious.

Coming to terms with the fact that finding out what the waitress needed wasn't important, Keen finally snapped herself out of her reverie once more and went back to the antibiotics, opening them with a loud 'pop'. She carefully coaxed a pill into the open palm of her hand and then brought her hand to her mouth, swallowing it whole. Quickly afterwards, she grabbed her cup once more and brought it to her lips. Tilting her head back ever so slightly, she drank the water, but not without catching the sight of something odd from beyond her drink.

Swallowing slowly, she noticed the sneaking glances towards her from every other person sitting on the balcony. It definitely wasn't everyone, but most of the people who were looking seemed to have the same expression as Ella did when she first came back with the cup; a blatant mix of fear and nervousness. The ones that didn't try to hide their staring by obvious side glances - a number of people who could be counted on one hand - were obviously very unhappy and disturbed with Keen's presence. Which made Keen jump to the conclusion that the others were no more willing to stay around her any longer.

Maybe Ella decided to spread some rumors in the minute that she had been gone? The other customers certainly hadn't been staring at her like that the entire time she was there. She would have noticed it long ago, and if they had looked at her like that when she had entered the café, Keen would have turned and walked right back out.

_'Or maybe they think that I'm a drug addict and I should probably get these pills of the table.' _Was the next idea that popped her mind. Ignoring the thought at first, seeing as it was just a vague, sarcastic comment that Keen made to herself, she then straightened up and starting putting the containers away anyways. She still half-doubted that the medicine was the reason, but she also figured that it would be best to pack up after all. She didn't want to stay where she wasn't wanted.

The only reason she had come to the café was so she could rest her feet after walking around all day. Not only that, but she needed to take her antibiotics. However, both tasks were finished, so there was no more reason to stay there.

Pulling the backpack on after making sure everything was zipped up and put away, Keen left the table with nothing but the cup resting on top. Making her way back inside the café from the balcony, she weaved her way through the tables and towards the stairs, jogging down carefully to reach the first floor. Continuing on her way through the second wave of tables, she finally made her way out the café and into the bustling city.

Putting her hand above her eyes to shield herself from the blinding sun, she merged in easily with the crowd and walked along the stone walkway with everyone else, ignoring the constantly hassling vendors. Walking at a casual pace, with her hands now gripping the backpack straps, Keen wandered aimlessly through the busy streets.

_'I'm going to have to leave the city eventually,' _she pondered. _'But I don't know where to go.' _She had also yet to figure out _how _to leave. She was at a loss, and while a small part of her liked the idea of not being tied down to any sorts of responsibilities, a much larger part of her knew that sooner or later, she would need to find out what those responsibilities used to be. She needed to find her friends, and her family. She needed her _home_.

She needed to find out If she had any of those things at all.

She guessed that most people _would_ know - unless her situation was actually common - but as hard as it was for her to admit, whoever injured her really did a good job.

Keen furrowed her eyebrows and grumbled under her breath. Whatever kind of person current-Keen was - whether she was still like the Keen before she had been found in the not-forest or not - she definitely wasn't happy about losing whatever fight she was in. That was, if she had even _been _in a fight in the first place. There was always a possibility that she was just jumped and attacked out of nowhere.

But if it was a fight or not, she just didn't the like the fact that someone had hurt her.

The _nerve_ of them.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Keen had the vague idea that she knew some combat, whether it be long-range or close (hell, she was remembering facts about different types of fighting styles, so she had to know _something_) but it didn't help much. Knowing and doing were two different things, and she felt like she didn't have the muscle power to pull off anything too physical. That was something she worried about. Analyzing herself had made her come to the conclusion that she had a competitive personality and a weak, physical prowess, which didn't add up well in the long run.

It was both difficult and frustrating to try to think of the kind of person she was.

Backtracking her thoughts to the 'fight' with this mystery person; from what Doctor Kran had told her - and from what she could see and feel - she received quite a few fractures and a number of cuts along her skin just from this one person. One cut in particular stood out among the others, and it was the source of most of the blood that had surrounded her. Starting at the left side of her collar-bone, and down to her lower abdomen, Keen had received her killing blow there. Even as she walked slowly, lost in her own mind, it still seemed to tingle, as if the sensation of whatever had cut through her was going through _again_, over and over albeit only faintly and significantly without any harsh pain.

Keen couldn't recall, but she imagined being sliced like a fish didn't feel totally blissful.

Another significant injury - what Kran believed was the source of her problems - was the one she received around her neck. While it healed mostly since being admitted into his care, there used to be an ugly, purple bruise circling around like whoever had touched her accidentally dipped their hands in paint just a few seconds before attacking her.

On top of earning a huge gash, she had also been choked to death. Technically not _to death_, but whoever hurt her seemed to not care about letting her survive. She concluded it wasn't smart to do, but behind any curiosity to do with herself, Keen wanted to find the jerk and... and do _something_. Thinking about her almost-killer made her blood boil.

The neck injury had thrown her towards a fast track on becoming a wayward amnesic, and she wasn't so happy about waking up wondering who, what, where and _why _about every, single, _little _thing. She had to learn who she was and it was like trying to make friends with your own mind. It was just so, completely difficult; learning who you were was frustrating when you were nothing more than a blank slate or a placeholder of nothing but facts and tasks that weren't erased along with your personality.

Part of her felt it would have been easier if she had just died in that forest.

She took a deep breath and gripped the backpack straps tighter. Her rage was turning her into a pessimist.

Or maybe she already was one?

Shaking her head to clear any more negative thoughts before they could appear, Keen continued her thought process.

The only thing that Keen had on her body the night she was discovered was the small amount of beri in her pocket - which was eventually used to buy clothes that _weren't _bloodstained - and a ripped piece of black fabric. _What good those two items did to help her out_.

None of the citizens that she had spoken to even recognized her too, so it was safe to say that she wasn't going to find anything out about herself from the ever-bustling Borealis. None of the travellers seemed to pay her any mind either, unlike the occupants at the café.

The ony things she could recall from before her amnesia took place were simple facts about herself. Age, name, birthday, etc. Nothing totally important. Anything involving people, places, or memories were totally wiped out save for everything that took place the day she woke up in the hospital and beyond.

She could try her luck and stow away on a ship to travel around the world until she found some sort of clue, but it was probably the dumbest thing she had thought of all day, so she quickly ruled out that option.

Made it would have helped to grow a pair and ask what Ella's problem was when she had the chance to. Maybe then she could've had _some _sort of idea about what to do ne-

"Ah!"

With a gasp of surprise and a slight jump, Keen shot her hand to her face, her hand immediately coming into contact with a piece of paper. Looking around to see if anyone saw the rather embarrassing event, Keen noticed that directly to her right and not too far away from her, standing in the shade of a building were two young men, staring wide-eyed. Both looked paralyzed from shock and the short one had his hands placed like he was holding a sheet of paper. Seeing that there wasn't anything actually _placed _in his hands, Keen guessed that the paper he was holding had flown out of his grip and hit her. She must've been too distracted to notice any sudden gusts of wind.

Intending to hand the paper back, Keen stepped towards the men, but before she reach out her hand, the two scurried off, mumbling to each other.

"Ah... Your paper..." Was all that she got out before her voice trailed off. Watching the two men run off into the crowd, Keen frowned. What had she done?

Looking down at the paper, and then gaping like a fish, Keen realized why.

There. A bounty paper. With her name.

Her picture.

Her name and her picture.

Her picture, with her name above and a couple of words hidden between.

Keen. "The Ghost". Keen, the ghost, and then her picture.

Keen, The Ghost.

Keen, the pirate.

* * *

><p><strong>It's been a while since I've written anything! To be honest, I feel really, <em>really<em> rusty, but maybe this'll help me get back into the pace of things. I've reinforced my editing time by making sure I write a chapter down twice (in paper, then on computer), and then going over everything twice, but knowing dumb I am sometimes, I probably missed stuff. Like always, I've got a lot of ideas for this little, confusing story, but I guess we'll just see how much I actually get written down. Hopefully nothing's too obvious yet. I like to leave things a mystery until the very end.**


End file.
